A Sleeping Dragon
by Samurai Turtle
Summary: You could almost call it noble. A young Nord farmer from Cyrodiil musters up what courage he can find, and leaves all he knew to journey to his parent's homeland - looking to learn more about the heritage of his people. In a land torn apart by civil war, he will find a new life, with new friends and new enemies alike - along with a destiny he never knew he had.
1. Chapter 1 - The Prologue

Author's note:

This is my first (serious) attempt at fanfiction. All suggestions, comments, and criticisms are welcome.

Also note, that when I update this fic - I will _UPDATE _the _ENTIRE FIC (*05/17/2013* hopefully not that much)._ I will almost never simply just add a single chapter.. The entire fic is a work-in-progress.. Before I post a new chapter, I will read through the whole thing to make sure that every thing I add fits into what I have already written, and to see if maybe there is something that can be improved upon or fleshed out. This fic will be in a perpetual beta even after I have labelled it complete. So please, If any of you have any suggestions, feel free to PM me. If I like it and I feel it fits with my vision, I will change what is written and credit you with the idea. This especially applies to names.. help me.. please.. (LOL).. One of the hardest things that I struggle with is coming up with names that fit with TES lore, so if you have any ideas - PM me.

*05/17/2013* I have now realized why a lot of authors here in usually update in 1-2 week increments.. I can actually write a chapter in less than two days.. but for the next 3-4 days, I keep having ideas to add to or change what I have already written.. This leads to my first two chapters changing so many times that more often than not, what you've read one day will be different two days after.

So now I have decided to adopt the weekly chapter update model, maybe sometimes skipping a week if I can't make it in time. This will hopefully reduce the number of overhauls that I make to any chapter that I upload. That said, what I've previously said regarding this fic being in a state of 'permanent beta' still applies.. if I think of something (or someone else suggests it) to improve the quality of the fic or to make it more canon-compliant, I will make changes.. Oh, and updates will be on Sundays.

* * *

**An Introduction**

This story is one of many stories we have that detail the adventures of the Dragonborn. This one in particular will explore the idea presented to us by Paarthurnax that having a dragon's soul means having a dragon's instincts - a craving for power, insatiable pride, so on and so forth. As a human, our protagonist is very much the 'average joe' - his name is Knut, for crying out loud.. you don't get anymore average than that. However, as dragonborn, he also has the soul of a dragon.. what that means, well, that's what the story is about. This being a fanfic, there will be inevitable changes to canon, but I aim to stick as close to it as much as I possibly can.

The story itself will be divided into an as-of-yet unnamed series of at least four fics focusing on the Companions questline and the Main Vanilla story. This first fic 'A Sleeping Dragon' will detail Knut's entry into Skyrim, his journey to Whiterun, and his attempts at joining the Companions which he will do by doing the Bleak Falls Barrows quest for Farengar. Amongst other changes I will make to canon, Mirmulnir will not attack immediately after completion of Farengar's quest. The rest of the fic, if there is any after that, will focus on Knut settling down in his new life in Whiterun. To be honest, there won't be much dragon-slaying in this first fic. But I'm hoping you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Oh, and for those of you who care - this will be an eventual Lydia pairing.

"The story writes itself." I believe this. I have all this plans in my head as to how this story will progress. Some of them will happen, some won't. I am totally convinced that this story will find itself going in directions I have yet to conceive.. It will be in a consistent beta state, and I only have a slight advantage in regards to knowing what the final product will eventually be like. I had initially decided to play the game as I was writing the corresponding chapters - I have since then realized that this is a stupid decision. I will finish the game and use the internet for further research - this will result in slower-than-planned updates but will hopefully deliver a better quality story for all readers to enjoy.

Lastly, I am a big fan of the Discworld series of novels by Sir Terry Pratchett- this is something I highly recommend to any avid reader. Reading those novels have been a major inspiration and is hugely responsible for my decision to try my hand at writing something. Obviously, my writing style is also heavily influenced by said novels.

* * *

**A Sleeping Dragon**

**Chapter One - The Prologue**

* * *

History was being made. At least it would have been if someone were writing these things down - surely everyone knows history isn't history until it takes the form of ink on paper, until then it was merely things that were happening and things that have happened.

Things were happening, as it were.. And this was before the men of Nirn had it in their heads to write them down. This was, therefore, not the realm of history. This was before history - pre-history, one could say. Of course, one could also say that this was the realm of legend.

The men of Nirn - of Atmora and of Tamriel, at least - have long offered veneration and worship to those whom they believed to be the avatars of the gods who watched over the world - the hawk, the wolf, the snake, the moth, the owl, the whale, the bear, the fox, and - last and chief among them - the dragon. It is unknown what most of this strange pantheon thought about the situation and in the case of the moth and the whale, if they were even aware of their special place of honor. The dragons, however, were far more intelligent and appreciative of the situation.

The dragons actively encouraged the worship of men. It was only natural, after all, for inferior beings to worship the powerful. They then appointed representatives, dragon priests, to take care of the mundane tasks of being god-kings so that they could focus on what was truly important - basking in the glory of their subjects' worship. It didn't take long for this relationship to become oppresive - and the dragon priests, given a fraction of their masters' power, began to rule their fellow men with iron fists.

Which leads us to today..

In Skyrim, the northenmost lands of Tamriel - where the dragon priests have become most abusive and uninhibited, the Nords, men of Skyrim rose up against the priests. The dragons - seeing this as a challenge to their authority, respoded immediately. And so the worshippers rose up against their gods, slaves rose up against their masters, and men rose up against the dragons.

The Nords have long since adapted to the somewhat chilly climate of their new home. They are relatively more impervious to the cold compared to their Breton cousins who had chosen to populate a more temparate region of the continent. But even they cannot hope to outlast their reptilian masters - nay, foes.. With their thicker skin and greater overall physical and magical power, the dragons were poised to win the war. Thousands died.

But today, those fighting in battle have hope.. for they know that victory is within their grasp at last.

And so, they look towards the Throat of the World.

* * *

It was high noon and the sky was dark. The clouds leave no space for the sun to shine its light through.. What little light there was came from the reflection of fire and magic from the numerous battles happening below and the occasional flash of lightning as the storms continued their assault on the combatants.

High above the Throat of the World, above the highest peak of the highest mountain, there flew a great shadow. The Great Dragon -nay, the God - known as the World-Eater watched. He watched as the foolish mortals – those mutinous humans – fought desperately, trying to hold on to their illusions of power, of freedom.. From above this highest mountain, he saw them for the ants that they truly are, biting and scratching, not knowing that all their effort – all their hardships and blood – will all be for naught.

"Your hope withers, you treacherous slaves!" he bellowed, his voice heard all across the land. "I am your Doom!"

He stretches out his wings and prepares to join the battle.

"I AM –"

**Mortal.** You are about to die.

_'What? No!..'_ - "I AM –"

**Finite.** Your existence is at an end.

There was no pain.. no physical pain, at least. And yet black wings folded as if cut from a puppeteer's strings. Reptilian eyes shut in confusion. If dragons could vomit, he certainly would have. And a great shadow fell from the sky.

_'I am –'_

**Temporary.** You shall be forgotten.

The words lash out at his very soul.. And a mind that has seen eternity was forcefully contained into mortal senses.. An existence that has always been, forced to comprehend non-existence.. The Great Dragon –the God – known as the World-Eater crashed onto the peak of the Throat of the World.

He opened his eyes and saw them. Humans. Three, there were - at the forefront at least, with at least a dozen archers and mages further away.. The leaders of this insurrection no doubt – this futile rebellion. Around them, he was vaguely aware of the bodies of four of his kin.

_'These insects have actually managed to defeat my brethren!? How?.. No matter, they shall rise again!'_

Then He heard them shout.

**JOOR. ZAH. FRUUL.**

**Mortal. Finite. Temporary.**

They say words have power. This is especially true about the words of the ancient laguage of the dragons, said to be given them by the Divine Akatosh Himself. Gain understanding of what a word _truly means, _and you gain power over the thing itself. Dragons who are and have always been, are gifted with the great understanding of a multitude of things.. and using this understanding and their Words of Power, they Shout. And reality obeys. The Dragons call it _Thu'um - _the power of The Voice.

Once again, overwhelming confusion reigned over the great dragon's senses.. _'Thu'um!? How can these mortals use the Voice!?'_ was the only conscious thought he could manage as his mind was, yet again, forced to embrace mortality.

He could feel their axes and swords and arrows as they try to pierce his skin, their magic and spells as they try shatter and burn through his scales.

"Foolish Mortals! What are these twisted Words you have created!"

There was only one person, nay, one dragon who could have thought them the art of the Voice.

"Traitorous Paarthurnax! WHERE ARE YOU!? My teeth in your neck!" he roared, daring his former lieutenant to show his face. He lunged and grabbed the nearest human with his jaws. Her axe dropped to the ground as He threw her corpse off the side of the mountain.

"Foolish Slaves! Die in terror! Your weak voices cannot hope to defeat me!"

The haze of mortality was lifting. His Voice was stronger than what these slaves can ever hope to achieve. He will show them how to use Thu'um.

**YOL. TOOR. SHUL.**

**Flame. Inferno. Sun.**

A torrent of flame engulfed the remaining humans.. the fires of the inferno, hotter than the sun itself. Their magic manages to spare them.. barely. He can feel their hope diminish.

One of the warriors – for that was what they were, he recognizes that now – was on his knees, his sword digging into the ground. They were growing tired. The limits of their mortal bodies finally showing the inevitability of their defeat.

"I commend your bravery, humans. But it is futile. Go to your deaths.. and await your fate in Sovngarde!"

He lunged –

**JOOR. ZAH. FRUUL.**

Confusion. The dragon roared.. There was another human, he remembered. But there was hardly enough power to this shout - the human was getting tired, still, it was enough to make the dragon stagger for a few seconds. Enough time for that one human to get away.

He raised his head as the confusion clears. This battle has gone on for long enough.

_'Enough of this.. I will burn them to oblivion!'_

He opened his eyes.

**YOL. TOO-**

And he saw eternity.

"The Elder Scroll?.."

They say words have power. This is especially true with regarding over that which they record. History is undecided until it is written - usually by the winners, and even then, simply change the words - and you can change history itself. The Elder Scrolls record the whole of eternity itself. Mortals - both men and mer - who weren't meant to read them either go blind or insane after just one glance, unable to fathom the secrets the scrolls contain within their words.

The Elder Scrolls have power even over the eternal themselves.

"-cowards… I shall return to this land.. This will only delay your destruction! Are you forgetting who I am!? I AM -"

And the Great Dragon - the God - the World-Eater, was gone.

* * *

Almost a thousand years pass. Empires rise and fall - and rise yet again. What once was a land dominated by dragons, and then mer - the races of elves, is now ruled by the had of men.

The city of Kvatch lies on the western highlands of Cyrodil, capital region of the empire. Destroyed during the Oblivion Crisis centuries past, it has been rebuilt and now boasts a significant agricultural production and contribute heavily to the provision of rations for the ongoing military campaign to the north. That is, they grow food for the soldiers fighting up there in the cold..

For miles and miles you can see the gold of wheat in one direction, and the green of fruit trees in another.. maybe a few miles or so of the pure brown of good soil, just waiting for the seeds to bear fruit.

At a certain time in the morning you can smell the very wholesome scent of fresh cow dung. At another, the scent of horse dung. At times, it is a mixture of both. That is the smell of good farmland, that is.

In a small farmhouse south of the city, old missus Isa was giving one last goodbye the former owner of the farm. It belonged to the lad's parents, you see.. and now it belongs to old Amiel and Isa Hodge.

"Now dear, do remember that you will always have somewhere to return to.. Amiel and I will be more than willing to sell you back the farm, or you can work for it if you find yourself out of gold. And of course, you are always welcome to spend the night."

"Yes missus Hodge. But I don't think I'll be coming back anytime soon.."

Isa sighed. Of all the lads she had watched grow up, she never thought this one would ever leave.. He had so much promise too! And Gwynabyth's daughter, the young lass Morganna was nearly of marriable age! Such a waste.

"Now Knut, I know you're very anxious to leave.. but wouldn't it be smarter to wait till the winter is over?" she advised._ 'or the war even, maybe?'_

It was the middle of the month of Hearthfire.. Winter doesn't officially begin for at least two more months. But young Knut was headed for Skyrim, where they say winter starts on Last Seed and lasts all the way up to Second Seed.

"It'll be fine missus Hodge! I have all this gold you've given me.. more than a fair price for the farm, I thank you for that.. and if needed, I can always go with the supply caravans."

There was no stopping him, she knew.. His parents had been filling his head with stories of the _homeland_ for years. They were good people too.. Shame.

A few hours later, after she watched Knut leave on his journey, Isa ate lunch with her husband Amiel and went to visit her friend Neminda.. Her son Casimir was growing up to be a fine young man - easy on the eyes and a good hand for farmwork. And they say that old Gwynabyth's daughter Morganna was nearing marriageable age now.. well, wasn't that nice.

* * *

A few more weeks pass. Anthills rise - they get crumbled, stepped on, and generally get smashed - and still they rise again.

It was high noon. The autumn sky above the province of Skyrim was clear, the sun spreading what warmth it could spare before winter arrives.. So unlike what it was during that fateful night a thousand years past.

Then there was a disturbance, a wound in time.. and the Great Dragon - the God - the World-Eater was there, just as he has always been.

For a thousand years, the dragon Paarthurnax kept his vigil atop the Throat of the World. Watching and waiting - preparing for what he knew was to come. The World-Eater would return.. in the same place that he was banished, a thousand years in the past. And now, he was here.

He was weak.. It was both an instant and an eternity since he was banished to wander through time. Even those which are eternal cannot escape the power of the Elder Scrolls unscathed. It would be so easy to destroy him now.. but it wouldn't be right. It wouldn't do for a tyrant - a pretend god - to be killed, only to be replaced by another. It was not his destiny to defeat his former master, this he knew. He concealed the presence of his soul, this was not the time to be noticed.

And so, he watched.. and remained silent.

The World-eater stretched out his senses as far as he possibly could. He could feel the thousands of human souls spread throughout the horizon.. But that was not what he was looking for.

_'There'_

All across Skyrim, he can sense the presence of his kin. The souls of the ancient dragons of old.. resting. He can almost feel their anticipation, for surely they know that their master would return to return them into bodies to finally crush the rebellious humans.

_'But not yet'_

He was weak.. He did not yet have the strength required to revive all his fallen kin. The humans can wait. He must first go to Sovngarde, the land of fallen brave souls, and feast.

And then he sensed it, there was a dragon in a living body nearby.. A young dragon, by the feel of his soul. There hasn't been any young dragons since the beginning of the world. Perhaps he can investigate this before heading to Sovngarde.

Black wings spread open, and a great shadow moved across the sky.

_'Your time has come humans.. I will not let your insult go unpunished!'_

_'I am immortal!'_

_'I am infinite!'_

_'I am eternal!'_

_'I am **ALDUIN!**'_

Down below, in a cave atop the Throat of the World, Paarthurnax watched Alduin fly away.. and remained silent.

* * *

**end Chapter One**

* * *

Reviews and Suggestions are always welcome!


	2. Chapter 2 - The Border

Author's Note:

Some of you will be confused.

Well, the thing is, I realized that this chapter which I had initially labelled as 'The Prologue' is not, technically, an actual prologue. Generally speaking, prologues aren't supposed to be plot. They usually have elements that are important to the plot, but they don't usually move the actual story forward.

Then I realized that my planned second chapter - which mostly consisted of flashbacks that give a little bit more context to the plot, was actually prologue material!

So here we are now.. the actual new chapter is the new 'Chapter One - The Prologue' and of course, I've added and changed a few tidbits here and there in this chapter.

* * *

**A Sleeping Dragon**

**Chapter 2 - The Border**

* * *

_There comes a point in nearly every man's life wherein he decides to do something completely and utterly stupid._

There are, for example, countless stories of aspiring wanna-be chefs who attempt to steal mammoth cheese from the numerous giant encampments spread across the chilly plains of Skyrim. Mammoth cheese omelette is, after all, one the biggest fads in the culinary world. The logical mind would of course remember that the giants do not appreciate this.. unfortunately chefs have never been particularly known for their logic.

_Inevitably then, there will come a time - that is, one moment of clarity - when he realizes just how utterly stupid the thing-that-was-done truly was.._

Picture one of our intrepid chefs. For most of them, this moment is right before the club hits them where it hurts - which when a giant swings it means pretty much anywhere that it hits. And for the rare few who actually manage to survive that initial hit, there is usually a second moment of clarity. Usually this is about five minutes later - after a pretty good bird's-eye-view of Skyrim, right as they are about to hit the ground at roughly fifty meters-per-second. So far, there hasn't been anyone with a third.

* * *

_This was NOT supposed to happen!_

Knut was doing his utmost best to be invisible.. So far, he was succeeding. Of course he had the help of a rock. It was a good rock. It was awkwardly shaped and snuggled right beside a pine tree and, most importantly, away and out of sight from the battle that was happening (but was NOT supposed to) just a few yards away at that very moment. In other words, it was perfect for hiding away from the battle, that still should NOT be happening.

So yes, it was definitely a very good rock.

The journey itself wasn't too bad.. He still had a lot of the gold from selling the farm his parents left him and had plenty of gold to spare. He enjoyed whatever comforts he could reasonably afford whenever he stopped by a town. The constant flow of soldiers and military supplies into the province made the threat of bandits non-existent. He had some difficulty with the unpredictable weather of Fall, of course- sudden rains with no shelter in sight, incredibly strong winds that change direction every ten seconds, that kibd of thing.. but overall. it was a rather uneventful journey.

It was safe.

It was boring.

It was perfect.

Until now, that is..

Oh, he knew about the civil war - everyone does! Hardly anyone in Cyrodiil can manage two sentences without talking about it. Apparently, some _yarl_ or whatever of some sort had _shouted_ the High King to death and then tried to claim the throne - _'that was just asking for a war, that was'_.. And now - well - now he just hopes he can get out of this alive. He wouldn't admit it to anyone - especially to missus Hodge back home, but the decision to go to Skyrim now seems to be getting very definitely stupider with every passing second.

His parents were full-blooded Nords who moved to Cyrodiil at least a decade before the great war with the Thalmor. They had been planning to take the family back to the north when Knut was old enough. Well, he was old enough now wasn't he? - and though his mother and father couldn't join him, he was sure they would have wanted him to make the trip nonetheless.

There was also the fact that on some nights for the past few weeks, he stared up at the sky and dreamed of adventure. The farm life was getting too boring for him. He blames his Nord blood.

So what of there was a civil war?! He wasn't a soldier.. Why should he care? It wouldn't affect him!

Right?

Right!

-or so he thought, anyway..

The sound of fighting continued.. Knut sighed and tried to make himself as small as possible as he pressed himself against the rock.

Very very definitely stupid indeed.. Extremely stupid, even.

_It was a moment of clarity._

Knut wasn't what someone would call a religious person. But in that moment of clarity, that most men when they do very definitely stupid and idiotic things, it is in the nature of most men to suddenly find that religon jumps up in importance in his priorities. And so, for the thirty-seventh time in the last half hour, Knut prayed.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh.." he muttered.

* * *

Lokir couldn't believe it. He actually got away with it!

The stable-master in Whiterun had a very big problem with trusting people - that is to say, he tended to trust anybody and everybody very easily. With Whiterun being the only true neutral power amongst the nine holds of Skyrim, It's citizens are generally more optimistic and less jaded than the average Nord nowadays.

It had been a simple matter for Lokir to persuade the stable master to let him try out the horse before he would commit to anything - just a run to Riverwood and back. The schmuck.

It hadn't been this easy in other places, he was a known thief in scoundrel in at least four of the various holds.. But all that hard work is about to pay off.

He collected the various stashes of gold he had hidden around his hometown of Rorikstead - he was going to miss his mum, but he cannot risk being seen here of all places.. Best to limit all contact with people to as little as possible.

Ah, Hammerfell. A few years ago, the Emperor signed the White-Gold Concordat to finally cease hostilities with the Thalmor of the Aldmeni Dominion. Hammerfell was given to the Thalmor - and them Redguards didn't like that at all. They managed to kick the damn Thalmor out and now exist as an independent state.

Outside the jurisdiction of both Skyrim and the Empire.

It was perfect!

He was very recognizable in Falkreath, so he'll have to take the riskier path and go south into Cyrodiil and then the westward ride to Hammerfell.

What could go wrong?

* * *

Even behind his rock, Knut could feel the excitement. The scales have tipped, and the battle was nearly over. The day was won.

By whom? Why the hell should he care!? All that matters is that he's still breathing.

"Check the prisoners!" he heard one of the men shout. "And make sure the jarl's bindings and gag are secure, we can't risk having him shout."

"What should we do with the dead, Legate?"

"Load as much of the survivors into the carts, leave the dead.. we'll have to come back for them later. Find Hadvar, and tell him to come see me"

The fighting was finally officially over. The rock Knut was hiding behind did its job well.

_'It seems that the jarl, whoever that is, is amongst the prisoners.. Good, maybe finally this war will end.'_ Knut breathed out a sigh. '..can't_ risk having him shout...'_ the phrase echoed in Knut's head. _'Come to think of it, wasn't the High King "shouted" to death? Now how exactly would that work?'_

Knut didn't really know much about Nord culture - if he did, he would know how exactly someone can be shouted to death, but he was eager to learn as much as he can about his parent's homeland and his heritage. He filed this thought into the stuff-I-need-to-find-more-about section of his mind.

It's been at least ten minutes since he last heard any sign of nearby activity. His heart was still beating a bit faster than normal, but he wouldn't be surprised if it stayed like that for the rest of his life. Is this how soldiers feel like all the time?

_'Well, no thanks! I've had enough excitement for a lifetime.'_ He was beginning to miss farm life. '_Whose stupid idea was it to go on this trip anyway…'_

For the past few weeks now, Knut had been having moods.. he calls them his very-Nord mood and his not-very-Nord mood. It was the very-Nord Knut that stared up the night sky and dreamed of adventure. It was the very-Nord Knut that had decided to go to Skyrim - he knew this. Only now, he was in the not-very-Nord mood. And not-very-Nord Knut very very much just wants to have a hot meal and a soft bed. Not-very-Nord Knut was beginning to miss the simple farm life.

Unfortunately, there was none of that here - there was only the rock.

But the rock had done its job well.

Deciding it was safe enough and that one will never get a hot meal and a soft bed in the middle of a forest , Knut grabbed his belongings and prepared for the last few miles of his long journey..

He didn't even feel any pain.

The world went black.

* * *

Two days ago, the rightful High King and current Jarl of the hold of Windhelm - Ulfric Stormcloak was captured.

It was sheer luck that Ralof was visiting his sister in Riverwood when he'd heard his nephew Frodnar tell his friend Dorthe about Imperial soldier activity near Darkwater Crossing. He found the Imperials before he could see, much less warn the Stormcloak group in the area. He did not know what Jarl Ulfric himself was doing here, but he couldn't do anything but watch as the jarl was captured and taken to nearby fort-city of Helgen.

His liege didn't even fight - so unwilling to shed unnecessary blood. As the rightful king should be.

It had taken more gold than he thought he actually had, but he had managed to send horseback couriers to carry coded messages to every single Stormcloak stronghold he could think of.

Two days later, in this forest, he finds himself again watching. Contrary to what everyone had expected, the jarl was being moved south.. towards Cyrodiil.

Smart.

Everyone would be expecting the Jarl to be sent to Solitude with much fanfare. No one would be expecting such a small procession - unheard and unseen -going outside of Skyrim.

But the great Talos had - in his wisdom - chosen to use him, a lowly soldier, to aid his king. Ralof did not know why he was chosen for this great honor, but the gods work in mysterious ways.. and he would not allow this chance to go to waste.

They had men positioned on either side of the road, getting ready to strike.. now all they need was the perfect opportunity.

The Imperials stopped, and Ralof heard the gallop of a horse.

The rider slowed down as he reached the Imperial party. And Markus the Brave got a good look on his face..

"Hey, I know you! You stole my grandma's walking stick once!"

"-Shit."

Lokir immediately had the horse go off the side of the road to lose the soldiers. An arrow flew right by his left shoulder - and went towards what suspiciously looked like a camouflaged person holding a shield.

*Thuk*

Now, to an ordinary person, the *thuk* of an arrow hitting the tree and the *thuk* of an arrow hitting a living body sounds almost entirely the same as the *thuk* of an arrow hitting a wooden shield.

Almost entirely.

To a soldier, they all sound completely and very distinguishably different.

"-Shit." Ralof could only curse.

All hell broke lose.

* * *

It had been too good to last.

Two days ago, Imperial forces had managed to lead Ulfric Stormcloak himself into ambush. Word is, the jarl had surrendered without a fight. His company was tasked with bringing the rebel leader to the imperial capital to face trial.

The weather had been clear all week and showed no signs of changing anytime soon. All in all, it seemed like it was going to be a pleasant trip to Cyrodiil.

It was decided that bringing the jarl to Solitude, the provincial capital of Skyrim, was too risky. The area was still too unstable. Better to have the trial in Cyrodiil and bring him back to Skyrim for punishment after the province was back solidly in Imperial control.

Nobody expected a rescue attempt this far from Stormcloak lands.. And every effort had been made to keep all plans very quiet. Apparently, it wasn't enough.

"We underestimated the Stormcloak bastards' intelligence network.. Could there be a spy among us?"

"Legate Vorenus, sir, you sent for me?"

"Just thinking outloud soldier.. Here-" he gave Hadvar a rolled up piece of parchment. "-ride back to Helgen and give this to general Tulius. You're being transferred back to his guard sooner than anyone expected, Hadvar."

Vorenus still seemed lost in thought as Hadvar pocketed the letter.

"With more than half our supplies destroyed in that skirmish, we cannot hope to reach the capital with all our prisoners. You shall go to Helgen and tell the general what has happened, I am expected in the Imperial city and so I will take a handful of men and proceed to the capital. I expect Rikke and Valerius can handle matters here.. and the general can still, no doubt, turn this situation to our advantage."

"And the prisoners?"

"The rest of the men will bring them back to Helgen, I shall let the general and the rest decide what to do with them. You are dismissed."

"Sir!"

The soldier known as Hadvar sharply saluted and left.

* * *

"Gogrek! Got another one of the bastards right here!" Markus the Brave was gallantly carrying Knut over his shoulders. "Found him trying to scurry away with his tail between the legs, ha!"

There was a chorus of tired laughter from the men. Such as you can only hear after a heated battle between kinsmen. Nobody liked killing his cousin's husband.. or the neighborhood baker's son.. or in the case of poor Jodric the Regretful, his own brother. But alas, such is the fate of soldiers. There is always blood in war.

"There's still some room on the jarl's cart! Just toss him in there with that horse thief and let's go!" bellowed Gogrek the Stout boisterously, still very jovial. He and Markus the Brave were probably the only two people in the entire company who were still in high spirits. Nothing ever gets to Markus the Brave and Gogrek the Stout.

Knut's hands were bound and three men loaded him onto said cart.. All of them had their hands bound tight, standard procedure really. Bind the hands, you don't want them fighting back. But don't bind the feet, let them try and run.. Gives everyone an excuse for stress relief, target practice, and the opportunity to deliver an early justice.

Seeing that everything was in order, Roggard the Swift quickly urged his horse forward to the front of the group. _'The lad Hadvar should be halfway to Helgen by now._' came a rapid thought. He was hoping the rest of the party can reach the town before the sun sets. He could sure do with a quick mug of mead.

"Let's go boys!"

It had already been a long and eventful day.. and it was still only high noon.

* * *

If one were to listen casually, one would hear the sound of over a dozen wooden carts as their wheels rattled and creaked as they rolled and stumbled on the muddy dirt road.. maybe one would even the sound of footsteps of horses and men as they marched northwards.

However, if one were to listen very very intently, and ignore all the mundane noises of the crowd, one would almost hear the sound of a distant roar.

Knut did not hear this. In fact, Knut did not even hear anything when Markus and Gogrek were deciding what to do with him, nor did he feel anything when three soldiers bound his arms and hefted him into a cart with a few other prisoners. He also couldn't show them the writ of safe passage and proof of citizenship he had in his pack, the pack that was left behind on the ground by the rock as Markus the Brave so valiantly subdued him from behind.

There was that roar again.

Knut didn't hear a sound.

After all, the world - for him at least - was still black. He hadn't yet had the opportunity for a second moment of clarity as well.

Fortunately, there was plenty of time for that later.

* * *

**End Chapter Two**

* * *

Reviews and Suggestions are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 3 - The Road to Helgen

Author's note:

I have now realized why a lot of authors here in usually update in 1-2 week increments.. I can actually write a chapter in less than two days.. but for the next 3-4 days, I keep having ideas to add to or change what I have already written.. This leads to my first two chapters changing so many times that more often than not, what you've read one day will be different two days after.

So now I have decided to adopt the weekly chapter update model, maybe sometimes skipping a week if I can't make it in time. This will hopefully reduce the number of overhauls that I make to any chapter that I upload. That said, what I've previously said regarding this fic being in a state of 'permanent beta' still applies.. if I think of something (or someone else suggests it) to improve the quality of the fic or to make it more canon-compliant, I will make changes.. Oh, and updates will be on Sundays.

If you have been reading this since the beginning, I ask that you reread the first two chapters again as I have made considerable changes to them.. most especially chapter one. I can promise you though that this will be the last time I will do major overhauls to posted chapters in a long while.

I had originally planned this chapter to include the actual execution but I felt that it was better to stop where this chapter ends.

Lastly, if anyone finds a typo, please tell me. I write this fic mainly from my iPhone so it's hard for me to catch them all.

* * *

**A Sleeping Dragon**

**Chapter Three - The Road to Helgen**

* * *

General Tullius - commander of the Imperial Fourth Legion, and military governor of Skyrim - was lost in thought.

The Imperial Legions have been, for the majority of the previous age, the dominant military power in the continent of Tamriel - and perhaps, even in the whole of Nirn as well. The Legions - though they weren't called that at the time - were what allowed the great emperor, Tiber Septim to succesfully unite all of Tamriel into a single empire. And it was also the Legions who - with help from the legendary Champion of Cyrodiil - fought and defeated the daedra invasion in the Oblivion Crisis centuries past.

But the Third Age was over, and it was now the Fourth. The Septim bloodline had died out and the Empire and its Legions were past their prime. Nevertheless, they remain one of the most disciplined and well-trained military force in the continent. After all, it was the Legions who - against overwhelming odds - managed to fight the Thalmor of the Alderi Dominion to a stalemate in the Great War.

The war with the Aldmeri Dominion - or simply, the Great War - had been fought at a great disadvantage. The sneaky pointy eared bastards had been planning it for years no doubt. A surprise assault from multiple fronts and the Thalmor had nearly taken the Imperial City - had in fact, held it for a few weeks. But the Legions were not out of the fight yet. Under the leadership of the Emperor Titus Mede II and the generals Jonna and Decianus, the Legions managed to drive out the invaders and give the empire the bargaining chips it needed for a peace treaty.

The White-Gold Concordat.

Which leads us to here and now, in this place and at this time - in bloody freezing Skyrim and in the middle of this thrice-cursed civil war. And General Tullius - general commander of the Fourth Legion - wasn't sent here to think about history lessons.

This war, in his most humble opinion, was the stupid result of a stupid decision made by a stupid fool in response to a stupid decision made by a usually smart man.. With both sides dancing in the palms of some very smug elven bastards.

_'We call it the Great War, those Thalmor bastards call it the First War, ha!'_

The general had been having a good week. When the aforementioned stupid fool had been captured two days ago, Tullius had been hoping he could bring about a swift end to the rebellion. It had certainly been good for the morale of his troops. Perhaps the empire could now begin preparations for the inevitable second war with the Aldmeri Dominion.

Vorenus has been the general's most able and trusted lieutenant and had been with him since he first took charge of the Fourth Legion. When the emperor requested one of his officers to serve as a temporary advisor to the Penitus Ocilatus - special agents entrusted with the emperor's protection, - it had made sense to volunteer him. No doubt it would open up even more doors to the Legate's already promising career.

When his forces had succeeded in capturing Ulfric, they had decided to expedite Vorenus's trip to the capital. It was the perfect ruse. Nearly all of Skyrim knew that the emperor's cousin, Lady Vittoria Vici was getting married in a few months. And no doubt, Stormcloak spies already knew about Vorenus's upcoming trip to escort the emperor himself to Skyrim. Noone would suspect that his lieutenant would be bringing a special guest to the capital. Even so, they had to be quick and act before word of the rebel leader's capture could get out.

But apparently, they weren't quick enough. And the Stormcloaks had a better espionage network than he had assumed.

* * *

There was a particularly loud argument happening inside the general's tent. The remaining two of the general's lieutenants were having an intense debate regarding their future course of action while General Tullius himself seemed to be lost on thought. Hadvar did what any good soldier of the empire was trained to do in such situations. Hadvar stood at attention.

"I ask again, what is wrong with simply executing him, right here! Right now!" said Legate Dion Valerius. He was the second son of the somewhat influential House Valerius. The family had wanted one of their own to hold an officer's position in the Skyrim campaign. They had managed to get Dion into the relatively safe and out-of-the-front-lines position as head of the general's personal guard. This fact effectively makes him Hadvar's immediate superior.

"And give the Stormcloaks more of a reason to fight!? These are Nords we are dealing with, my people.. There must be a trial!" argued Legate Rikke. She was the only female Legate in the Fourth Legion, and the only Nord among the general's three lieutenants. This had, from the beginning, led her to be at-odds with Legate Dion - who views both females and non-Imperials to be inferior.

"Then we make a clean work of it." replied Dion. "No one need ever know-"

"There is no honor in this!" exclaimed Rikke.

"I have to agree with Sir Valerius on this." interjected Legate Skulnar. He was the regional commander assigned to Falkreath Hold. He was getting tired of just being in the background of this argument. He was a Legate too, after all. "I am a Nord, just as you are Rikke.. but the attack demonstrates that the Stormcloaks already know where Ulfric is. It is far too risky to move him anywhere else."

"See? Even your fellow Nords agree!"

"But-"

"Enough!" the general had been roused from his thoughtful mood. "Skulnar has a valid point. This war has gone on long enough and we have to take whatever measures that present themselves to end it."

It seems the argument was over.

"Dion, you handle the preparations.. Skulnar, Rikke, I know this goes against what your culture dictates, and I won't ask you to stay. But we have no choice."

Legate Dion Valerius gave a smart salute and proceeded out of the tent.

"Hadvar, follow me!"

And Hadvar followed.

"Skulnar, return to Falkreath but do not inform Jarl Siddgeir of today's events just yet. Rikke, go with him and wait for me.. tomorrow, we head back to Solitude."

Tullius breathed a sigh of relief when the legates have gone. This sudden change of plans will thankfully have little effect on the future. Soon, this war will be over and he can finally get out of this frozen backwards province. He looked towards the Throat of the World. From this distance, you can barely see the peak of the mountain.

For a moment, he could have sworn he heard a roar.

It was two hours after noon.

* * *

It can almost never mean anything good when one wakes up not remembering where one is nor how one got there. And it most certainly cannot mean anything good when one finds that his hands are very tightly and very securely tied to the other.. Unless of course, one was _into THAT _kind of thing.

Knut was most certainly not _into THAT_ kind of thing. He more than likely has no idea what _THAT_ kind of thing even was. There were no shrines to Dibella - of _THAT_ kind, anyway - anywhere near Kvatch.

And so Knut found himself waking up to a situation very few men - and women - would want to find themselves in. His head still hurt from when Markus the Brave so dashingly bashed it over with his shield. Knut did not know that of course, but his head still hurts nonetheless.

"Curse you Stormcloaks! I would have been halfway to Hammerfell if it wasn't for you!" cried Lokir the thief.

"Curse us, horse-thief? Curse us? We who fight for Skyrim's freedom?" replied Ralof. "You'd best watch your tongue! Your actions have cost us a lot this day!"

Ralof did not know what went wrong. Had not his god, Talos, chosen him for this task? Was not his Lord the true and rightful High King of Skyrim.. How could divinely ordained task such as his be foiled by the ignorant actions of one insugnificant thief.

"Skyrim was fine before you came along.. Empire was nice and lazy.."

'Ah, the rebels..' Knut could barely think. Judging from his binds and his present company, he had been captured. The second worst thing had happened - the worst being, of course, death. All that hard work trying to be unseen had been for naught. Not-very-Nord Knut very much wanted to cry.

"Ah, you're awake friend.. I don't recognize you.. Were you trying to cross the border?" Apparently, the rebel had noticed he was awake.

'_No, no, no! Don't call me friend, you don't even recognize me right? So please don't call me friend! The driver can hear you! Are you stupid?! You'll get me hanged!_' Knut wanted to say. His head was still in pain, so he barely managed with a nod.

"You there, you and me.. We're not supposed to be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Imperials want!" Lokir was panicking now.

"We're all brothers in binds now, thief." was Ralof's somber reply.

"Shut up back there!"

The prisoners were getting on Markus the Brave's nerves. There should be a law that made it illegal for prisoners to keep yapping and yapping throughout the trip.

The rest of the trip was spent in silence..

It was three hours after noon.

* * *

General Tullius's hands were shaking.. they itched to draw his sword.

_'Why now?'_ he thought.

The Thalmor were here. Word of Ulfric's capture had spread out faster than they expected. It would seem that there really is no choice but to end this here and now.

It took all of General Tullius's willpower to not take his sword and skewer the arrogant elves before him. He made do with simply keeping his hand on the hilt.. just in case.

"We have been made aware that your forces have managed to capture the leader of the Stormcoak rebellion. Is this true?" There were only two of them. Surely no one would notice if two basta- *erm* gentlemen were to suddenly disappear. The roads of Skyrim can sometimes be dangerous to lone travellers. Especially during this war.

"Yes. It is." Tullius tried to clear his head of all malevolent intentions - but the general still had no intention of giving the bastards any information that could be of any use. His hand remained on the sword.

"Then we have to inquire as to why our embassy had not been informed of this matter immediately." One of the basta- *erm* gentlemen said. Which one, the general couldn't tell.

"I fail to see how this issue would affect the Aldmeri Dominion. This is purely an internal military matter, and I would prefer to keep it as such." the general replied.

He looked to the sun. It was the middle of the month of Hearthfire and the sun was sitting at a roughly thirty degree angle from the horizon, sitting roughly above the border of Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. The general now knew.. It was three hours in the afternoon. And he had somewhere around two hours to get rid of these bastards before the rest of Vorenus's unit arrived.

'Gentlemen, Tullius, not bastards... gentlemen.." He chastised himself.

"General, surely you understand that the Dominion holds great interest in the fates of these heretics.. and especially their leader. We understand that you are planning an execution this afternoon. We insist that we stay here to witness as representatives of the Dominion." the two elven agents spoke in tandem.. Tullius couldn't tell when one stopped and the other picked it up. Somehow, this made them even more annoying. His hand tightened it's grip on his sword.

'_That damn Valerius can't keep his mouth shut.' _The general gave the _request_ some thought though._'There really isn't anything these two can do to ruin the operation.. and surely they are even more for Ulfric's death than we are. And I cannot have an international incident right now.'_

"Very well gentlemen, they should be here shortly."

Tullius's hand was hurting now.

It was still three hours after noon.

* * *

Hope makes the world go round - or wait, was it love.. Well, hope did something good for the world- and hope was what Knut was desperately searching for at the moment. Love, and all others, will have to wait.

A thought had been prodding him ever since he woke up, and Knut, having nothing much to do, had eventually taken to giving it some attention. The leather sack that had contained most of his gold and belongings had evidently been left near the boulder where he had been hiding that morning. There was no hope there. The only consolation was that he still had the small leather pouch he keeps hidden inside his pants - safest place there is. The small leather pouch that held a handful of gold coins and the ashes of his parents, a few pinches each - at least part of them will have joined him in his journey.

'_Mother, Father.. Well, We're in Skyrim.. What now?!'_

Surely the Imperials would be reasonable. He would simply explain his situation!.. He would even have the thief and the two rebels as witnesses! The imperials would send someone to _his_ rock to find his belongings and all his paperwork.. And he can even give them some gold! A good bribe never fails, after all.

Knut had found hope. It was all going to work out.

About half an hour had passed since Markus the Brave had so fearlessly scolded the prisoners into silence. Lokir couldn't stand it.. Some people need an outlet when stressed - and for Lokir, it was blaming others and asking questions. Having already blamed the Stormcloaks for this predicament, he decided to work on the second one.

"What's wrong with this guy?" he asked, gesturing to the gagged rebel sitting beside Knut.

"You've yet to learn to watch your tongue, thief! This is Ulfric Stormcloak, the true and rightful High King!" replied Ralof.

"Ulfric!? The Jarl of Windhelm?" asking questions didn't do much good for Lokir's stress levels this time. "You're the leader of the rebellion.. if they've caught you - oh gods - Where are they taking us?"

"Where ever it is we're going.. Sovngarde awaits.."

Knut didn't know much about Nord culture. But he knew where Sovngarde was. He knew that the jarl had been here, but he didn't realize how dire his situation was.

_'Gods, This can't be happening, this is NOT happening'_

Still, Knut held on to hope.

Another half hour of silence passed.

"What village are you from horse-thief?" Ralof broke the silence.

"Why so you care?!" snapped the thief. He was still panicking. The prospect of death does that to most people.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." was all Ralof had to say. Even Knut had to think about that.

That had somehow calmed Lokir. "Rorikstead. I am Lokir of Rorikstead."

"Ralof of Riverwood. What about you stranger?" Ralof looked to Knut now.

"My name Knut.. I'm from Kvatch." Knut volunteered. He was still a Nord after all.

"From Cyrodiil! Well friend, I can see you are no soldier.. the jarl and I will vouch for your non-involvement from these matters." Ralof replied. Ulfric could only grunt. Those who knew him well would be able to tell that it was a grunt of affirmation. Knut did not know the Jarl of Windelm very well, so he'd just have to take Ralof's word for it.

Knut didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted. What did he mean _'I can see you are no soldier',_ Knut worked very hard to stay in shape - thank you very much! And swinging a sword cannot be that much different to swinging a hoe or a sickle.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh.. Divines, please help me!" they heard Lokir mutter.

"Ha!" Knut couldn't help himself. "I've already tried that."

"Didn't I tell you guys to shut up back there!"

Markus the Brave couldn't take it anymore. The prisoners persist on getting on his nerves. He boldly jumped to the back of the cart and proceeded to honorably gag each and everyone of the noisy little bastards - everything Markus the Brave does was honorable.

And once again, there was silence.. And what little hope Knut had, was slipping away from his grasp.

It was four hours after noon.

Knut imagined, just for a moment, that he could hear a roar from somewhere above the clouds.

* * *

**end Chapter Three**

* * *

Reviews and Suggestions are always welcome!


End file.
